


Summer's End

by FyrDrakken



Series: Practice Makes Perfect [6]
Category: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Implied Smut, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-08-01
Updated: 2001-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrDrakken/pseuds/FyrDrakken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rogue's parents decide to transfer her from Xavier's school to the Massachusetts Academy, under the tutelage of Emma Frost.  This causes some problems for her ongoing secret relationship with Logan...</p><p>AU ending to an incomplete series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: PG13/R, language, violence and perhaps adult situations but no explicit smut.
> 
> Series: An alternate pathway striking off from the end of "Practice Makes Perfect" -- which was regrettably never finished, though enough of it exists to supply all background that might be desired for the given situation.
> 
> Disclaimer: Lots of corporations like Fox and Marvel, and people like Bryan Singer and Hugh Jackman and Anna Paquin, hold more rights in the characters and settings I'm playing with than I do. But I'm even more broke than Marvel, so I'm not worth the time and trouble of suing... The only "profit" I'm getting out of this is getting the demons out of my head without resorting to my family's traditional substance abuse, serial marriages and/or self-mutilation...
> 
> Thanks: To all those whose feedback on my prior stories (and repeated requests and demands for sequels!) have given the incentive to continue to lose sleep slaving over an overheating laptop! And again to Seperis for her betaing and AIM encouragement...
> 
> Note:  
> [ ] = Thoughts  
> * * = Emphasis  
> / / = Rogue (or someone else) reliving a bit of borrowed memory  
> :: :: = Telepathy

"You’re sending me *where*?" Marie gripped the handset of the phone anxiously, her other hand twining nervously in the cord.

"It’s called the Massachusetts Academy. We’ve been talking to the headmistress — a Ms. Emma Frost — and she really thinks she can help you with your — your mutation." Her father never *would* think of her ability as a "gift."

"But, but Daddy, Professor Xavier really *can* help me. And, and I like it here, and I have friends..." [And I have Logan.]

"Honey, you’ve been there for more than a year now, and you still have to stay covered up all the time. It’s time to see if this Ms. Frost can help you where Mr. Xavier can’t." That was her mother, on the other extension.

Marie bit her lip. Because the truth was that she *could* control her gift — but had been keeping that a secret, ironically enough, to keep her parents from taking her out of this school. The impulse at this point was to announce that she *had* gotten control of her gift — or to more warily claim to have "made progress" in gaining control. But convincing her parents of her skill would result in them bringing her home to Mississippi.

Whether Mississippi was preferable to Massachusetts — and her parents preferable to Emma Frost — was a matter worth considering. And also worth talking over with Logan.

Marie suppressed her protests for the moment. If the end decision was to tell her secret to her parents, that could be done in a later phone call.

* * *

Logan’s advice — that she could choose to tell her parents after trying out the Massachusetts Academy, but couldn’t take back telling her parents to return to Xavier’s *or* Frost’s schools — matched her own inclinations. "But you’ll be here, and I’ll be in Massachusetts..."

Logan smiled at her. "Kid, I’m only here ‘cause *you’re* here. If you’re going, I might as well follow you to Massachusetts — or all the way to Mississippi..."

The question there was how much contact they’d be able to get away with. Marie of course had Logan’s cell phone number, and she dragged him down to the computer lab to set up a free e-mail account for him out of added paranoia. It might turn out to be the best method for *him* to get a private message to *her*.

* * *

Somehow Marie had been expecting her parents to personally transfer her to the new school. So when a minivan from the Massachusetts Academy appeared at Xavier’s front gate the very next weekend after that phone call, it came as a shock all around. [Yeah, I *know* New York is a long way up from Mississippi, but they could have waited for a long weekend or spring break or something, or taken a few days off work, or flown up and rented a car or something. If they care so much about *which* mutant private school I go to, why aren’t they inspecting this one personally before leaving me there?] She didn’t get to share this complaint with anyone, being too busy packing up her clothing and other things. Kitty and Jubes, already shocked by the news of her transfer but doubly so by the abruptness of the move, helped with the packing, and a number of others — Logan silently among them — helped carry bags and hastily-scrounged boxes from her room to the vehicle outside.

Yet another reason to resent the suddenly-imposed deadline was the inability to give Logan a *proper* farewell. Marie was mobbed by friends and teachers from the start of the packing until her final departure, all of them milling around helping or getting underfoot, swamping her with assorted well-wishes and tearful goodbyes. No time for a private one-on-one with Logan.

Her best opportunity came when the last of her things had been loaded. Professor Xavier by that point was out on the driveway, backed by Scott and Jean, expressing well-bred annoyance to none other than the headmistress herself. Emma Frost had personally made the trip to Westchester to fetch Rogue, who was feeling singularly unimpressed by the honor. A fair percentage of the mob had chosen to witness the debate, or perhaps just to inspect the Professor’s counterpart. Marie had no interest in the extremely polite argument — the *real* decision having been made by her parents, this was nothing more than an ineffectual protest on Xavier’s part — and would have the entire drive to Massachusetts to get acquainted with Frost. Logan was far more important, and right now seemed to be about the best time she’d have to avoid attracting the attention of most of the potential eavesdroppers.

Except that she couldn’t think of anything to say — between the two categories of "things she wanted to do" and "things she felt safe doing in front of witnesses," there was nothing in common. Logan saved her from her dilemma, removing his dogtag and placing it in her hand again. It meant the same thing as it always had — hers to keep until they saw each other again, a promise that they *would* see each other again. As he closed her gloved fingers around it yet another time, he said, "Things’ll work out."

She smiled, and saw the answering smile in his eyes that he hadn’t allowed to reach his face. In the emotional atmosphere of the mass farewell, she felt it safe enough to risk a hug. He inhaled deeply, getting one last dose of her scent to last him until the next time, however much of a wait that might be — she knew, because she was doing the same. With her face against his shoulder, she murmured for his ears alone, "I’ll check out our options and let you know..."

Pulling back, she saw that he had allowed the smile to leak out onto his face — which was just as well, since the underlying sadness had begun to well up in his eyes. Taking the dogtag in her hand, she hooked the chain around her neck, pulling her hair over it and dropping it into concealment behind her shirt. He watched the silent promise — to wear his name against her heart — and then ducked back out of the crowd.

Marie knew that he might have apparently disappeared right now, but would be finding a vantage point to watch until the minivan was out of sight. Sighing, she made her way around the van to the low-key argument between the various adults present. "All packed up," she said, interrupting Xavier’s exhortation to at least wait for the nearest break in grading periods.

"Ready to go?" Emma asked with a charming smile.

Rogue studied her and decided that Frost probably couldn’t help being beautiful, composed, and sophisticated — but it certainly didn’t make her much more likeable. "No — but the car’s loaded."

The headmistress gave her a look elegantly balanced between disapproval at her rudeness and indulgence at her youthful outspokenness. Marie suspected that once Frost was no longer trying to "win her over" — or performing for an audience, as the case might be — the indulgence would disappear and the disapproval would turn several degrees chillier. "In that case, let’s be off," was all she said.

"Goodbye, Rogue!" chorused Kitty and Jubes unhappily. She actually saw the pauses as they took a deep breath each before cautiously giving her the hugs that they so clearly felt were indicated under the circumstances. Marie refrained from sighing at the unnecessary caution. After all, neither one *knew* that it was unnecessary.

"Take care, Rogue," was Scott’s contribution, and Jean added, "We’ll miss you." Another hug each, Jean rather more cautiously than Fearless Leader Scott, whose stiffness seemed more attributable to an excess of Leaderly Dignity than to any nervousness at her mutation. [Pretty damn careless of you, Scooter — that’d be one hell of a "gift" for my girl to absorb accidentally,] Subliminal Logan grumbled.

"Remember, Rogue, you always have a home here if you want it," Xavier said. There was a firm promise lurking in the back of his eyes.

"Oh, I want it — it’s my parents that need convincing," she murmured.

"Perhaps," was his enigmatic response. Marie wondered if he were referring to the freedom from certain parental controls that came with one’s eighteenth birthday — more than a year and a half from now, in her case — or to her own previously demonstrated tendencies to up and leave when a situation seemed untenable.

Was he actually implying that he would help hide her here, against the wishes of her parents, were she to run away from the Massachusetts Academy?

Marie really *did* want to hug Charles at that point, but it seemed a bit tricky to bend that low — especially with the pretense to maintain of her dangerous skin. She felt a sudden urge to kiss him on the cheek instead.

Or better yet, the top of his head. The wheelchair left him at a convenient height for it, and the ensuing reaction might even be the one thing that could keep her from being shipped off with Frost.

"Might" being the operative word. The stated purpose of her transfer was to get better training in control of her gift, but with her parents’ permission given and her baggage all in the Academy’s van, Marie had a nagging suspicion that it might take more than a few seconds of unprotected skin-on-skin contact to keep Frost from taking her out of there. She had no real basis for this idea beyond her own unpleasant initial impression of Emma, but there it was.

Marie decided to settle for the hug after all, making it into a sort of sideways one-armed effort with her head turned away to keep a "protective" layer of her own hair between their faces. "Thanks for everything, Professor."

"I *am* sorry I couldn’t do more to help you with your gift," he said softly, for her ears alone.

Straightening, she replied, "Don’t worry about it." And smiled.

Without actually coming right out and *saying* that she had control now, she did the next best thing and let her total lack of concern in that particular area shine through in her expression. Xavier might not have been able to clearly read the oddly layered collection of minds between Rogue’s ears — even had he been generally inclined to snoop through other’s private thoughts without cause — but he was a perceptive observer of human behavior, and he was able to read enough in that smile to give him pause. He nodded thoughtfully, eyes never leaving hers, as the regret left his face to be replaced by something else.

Marie turned away before she had quite identified the "something else," to find Frost frowning at her.

The expression smoothed itself away so quickly one might almost have questioned its existence. "And if that’s it for the goodbyes, I think it’s time to go now." With a graceful, poised motion of one slender hand, Emma indicated the minivan. Marie accepted the silent instruction, moving around to the passenger side and climbing into the front seat.

"Goodbye, Rogue! Goodbye!" came the chorus, with Jubilee adding, "Don’t forget us, chica!" and Kitty reminding, "You’ve got our phone number!" Marie waved as the van backed, circled, and headed down the driveway and out the gate.

As they passed the school walls and her friends, teachers — and lover — were out of sight, Marie leaned back in her seat with a sigh. Kitty’s last comment had brought something to mind, and she turned to her new headmistress. "What’s the policy on phone calls in the dorms? Do we have our own phones, or is there a house phone at least, or a pay phone, or...?"

"There are a few phones on the first floors of the dorms and in a few of the common areas. Outgoing calls only, I’m afraid, and no calls at all after midnight, barring emergencies. And we ask that all students remember the phones *are* shared, and not monopolize the line for too long." Emma’s face had an almost prim expression.

[Ah, well, could be worse. Might be hard getting privacy — or even to a phone at all, if there’s a line waiting to use it — but at least they don’t seem to be cutting off all outside communication...] "I guess there’s always e-mail..." she commented, watching Frost in her peripheral vision to see her reaction.

And a reaction there was — an almost distasteful set to the mouth for an instant, before speaking. "There *are* computer labs, for term papers or other assignments, and internet access *is* available, but we generally prefer that the computers be used for mainly school-related purposes." A pause, before the almost grudging admission, "Although usage of the computer lab for personal or entertainment reasons is allowed, so long as no one with an academic purpose is kept waiting."

Marie nodded, satisfied for the moment. [I wonder if they monitor what the students do online, or block certain sites or anything like that? Think I’ll save that question for later — don’t want it to sound too much like I’m looking for ways to send secret messages out of there...]

* * *

The rest of the trip passed with little conversation. Emma made a few attempts at small talk that her traveling companion let fall by the wayside. Rogue wasn’t inclined to chat with Frost. Little Marie Gordon from Mississippi might have babbled the trip away, out of nervousness or friendliness or a genuine desire to get to know her new headmistress, but Rogue had learned from Logan how to be comfortable in silence. Especially when there was nothing worth saying or no one particularly worth saying it to, and Marie’s first impression of Emma had left her inclined to be guarded around the older woman. Besides, she was still speculating on the conditions to be found at the Academy and debating methods of returning to her accustomed Logan-intensive lifestyle — two very absorbing topics.

It was late evening when they arrived. Having stopped for dinner on the road (since they would arrive too late for the dining hall’s hours), there was not much for Rogue to do for the evening but start unpacking and go to bed. She met a very few people — three young men who helped carry her luggage inside in a single trip, and whom she wasn’t quite sure yet were students or staff, as well as the "Head Resident" at the dorm. The latter — a maternal woman who might have been a former student or hired staff for all Marie could tell — promised to introduce her to some of her new housemates the next morning.

Marie was pleased to find she had been given a room to herself — albeit a small one. She wondered whether solitary rooms were the norm at this school or an exception had been made for her as a concession to her mutation. Whichever the case, the privacy pleased her. Sneaking around — for *whatever* reason — was much easier without roommates.

* * *

"I propose we spend today's telepathy period hacking into the minds of some of our favorite screen idols. A gold star to the first girl who discovers the awful truth about Tom and Nicole..."  
— Emma Frost, NEW X-MEN #115, by Grant Morrison

* * *

The next morning, Rogue was given the promised introduction at breakfast, passing her new housemates in a blur of names and faces. One, who gigglingly responded to Marie’s introduction as "Rogue" with the name "Catseye," volunteered to show her around the campus.

The end of the tour was at Emma’s office, where Catseye’s knock earned a telepathic response. ::Thank you, Sharon. Marie, come in.::

Marie frowned. [She could have just said, "Come in." She didn’t have to use telepathy.] Then she shrugged, opening the door. [Different strokes. Just because the Professor likes to keep the mental stuff to a minimum doesn’t mean that’s the only way to do it. And it doesn’t *have* to mean Emma’s pushy or anything like that.]

[Doesn’t have to mean she isn’t, either,] Inner Logan warned.

"Ah, Marie. Please sit down," Frost said, barely glancing up from the papers on her desk. "Now, I understand that you’ve been having some trouble controlling your gift? Which does what, exactly?"

"Don’t you *know*?" [You had me yanked over here claiming you could help me control it better than Xavier could, and you don’t even know what it *is*?!]

"I’ve been told you can borrow other mutant’s powers, and may leave people in a coma with a touch. But I want you to describe it in your own words. What does it feel like to *you*?"

Slightly mollified, Rogue told her, "Like it’s their life pouring into me. Thoughts, memories... Powers, if they’re a mutant."

"And it’s at the slightest touch? No way to prevent it?"

Marie hesitated, caught between trusting this stranger with her secret and telling an outright lie. "Magneto was the third person I touched, and I managed to keep from taking enough to leave him in a coma." Which was true, without giving herself away just yet.

"And does anything you absorb persist over time, or are all effects only temporary?"

"Powers fade. So do thoughts, but memories can linger, and the more I touch a person the stronger their personality is in my head." [*Massive* understatement.] Subliminal Logan grumbled in agreement.

"Hmm. Interesting. Let me see..."

And just like that, Emma Frost was in Marie’s head.

Marie froze in shock. Inner Wolvie snarled angrily at the intrusion. Subliminal Erik, faded to a mere ghost over time, perked up at the familiar touch of mental fingers flipping through one’s thoughts. [Well, well, seems she’s a great deal less *principled* than Charles, isn’t she? Are you going to sit still for this, girl?] he inquired.

[NO!] was Marie’s angry response, echoed by Logan/Wolverine.

::Don’t struggle, child, I’m just looking at your memories of using your power...:: Emma told her, not ceasing her rummaging for an instant.

/David, quivering atop her bed in her old bedroom in Mississippi.../

Marie imagined her mind as a Rolodex, with Emma flipping through her memories. She imagined herself slapping Emma’s hand, slamming the desk drawer shut with the card file inside — only to have her "hand" grabbed by Frost.

::I told you not to struggle,:: Emma told her, annoyance leaking through in her mental voice as she held Marie’s "hand" still and continued to search.

/Logan, guilt and horror transmuted into frozen pain at the end of her fingertips.../

[HEY! Get the hell out of here!] Subliminal Logan entered the fray, because only Marie was being "held" helpless.

Not so helpless anymore, as Emma’s "grip" loosened with the distraction — but only until she had Inner Logan as well.

/High above the harbor, struggling ineffectually to keep Erik Lensherr’s life from flowing into herself.../

Realizing what memories would be turned up next, Marie struggled harder, Inner Logan fighting alongside.

/Standing in a deserted classroom, lips and tongues exploring, delighting in the taste and feel of bare skin and lips pressed together.../

Irate, defensive, and offended, Inner Wolvie dove into the brawl, shaking Emma’s control and pushing her away from those highly private memories. Even Subliminal Magneto and David helped, distracting Emma a bit more as Marie and her interior boyfriend shoved Frost away, combining efforts to "slam the door" behind her.

Leaving it up to her interior committee to guard the perimeter and keep Frost from sneaking back in, Marie glared coolly at the woman behind the desk. "Not so easy to control a mob as a single person, is it?"

Emma refused to be glared down. "That’s certainly one way of looking at it." A pause. "And so your ‘lack of control’ of your power?" A wry upward twist of one corner of her mouth.

Marie returned it. "No longer a problem."

"And you pretended otherwise because...?"

Cards on the table now — *some* of them, at least. "Because the only reason my parents let me stay at Xavier’s was to get control of my power. If they knew I had it down, they’d yank me right home to Mississippi." A moment’s thought, then the observation, "If I’d known they’d try sending me to a different school, I might have gone ahead and told them."

Frost laced her hands together, considering. "And was home so very bad?" A trace of sympathy creeping into her voice — whether genuine or merely an attempt to gain the girl’s confidence, Marie wasn’t sure.

Realizing that the *real* question being asked was, "Why did you want to stay at Xavier’s so badly?" Marie avoided the true inquiry with a literal answer. "My parents were okay, but the rest of the town was — bad, after my mutation kicked in." She didn’t elaborate.

"Ah." Apparently satisfied with the implication that Xavier’s had been a welcome refuge from anti-mutant bigotry — a truth, though not the entire one — Emma’s next question was, "And do you think this Academy will also be better than your home town?"

Marie gave her a half-smile and an honest answer. "I’m waiting to see how it turns out before I go deciding one way or another."

Emma nodded. "I see. Fair enough." Rising from her chair, "In that case, I think your schedule will be revised. If your control over your power proves satisfactory, we may change some of the allotted practice time for something more useful. Next week, I think — for *this* week, just follow this schedule and we’ll get an idea of where you would most benefit from the extra time." She handed Marie a sheet of paper, blocked out Monday through Friday with classes, "practice time," and study periods.

Accepting the implied dismissal, Rogue headed for the door. Struck by a thought, she paused and turned back to the headmistress. "If I’m not pretending to be untouchable, should I get rid of my gloves and scarf?"

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Are you safe to be around others without them?"

"Yes. I’ve been going around in public without them for the past few months and haven’t had any accidents."

"In that case, I think you may wear what you wish — within the dress code, that is." Again with an almost prim pursing of her lips, Frost resumed her seat.

Marie let herself out of the office. Closing the door behind her, she thoughtfully peeled off her gloves as she walked away. [Dress code, hell — walking around without *these*, I *still* feel damn near naked!]

[Good. I don’t want you shedding lots of clothes around all these kids without me here to fend the punks off.] Subliminal Logan’s opinion of an excess of bare-Marie-skin in his absence was on record.

She felt a smile curling her lips. [Not a problem in this weather — it’s damn near cold enough for me to want to keep the extra layers on anyway...]

[Good.]

[Still — nice to be able to eat lunch without gloves and not be considered a safety risk...]

* * *

The Massachusetts Academy turned to out be quite a change from Xavier’s school. For one thing, there were a *lot* more students. For another, only a few of them were actually mutants. Emma Frost was quite genuinely the headmistress of a very exclusive, very *expensive* private boarding school. The fact that a smallish percentage of the student body were actually mutants was one to which the "regular" students were very carefully kept oblivious.

[Wonder how the hell she manages to hide a whole group of mutants in plain sight that way? They’re learning, their control isn’t perfect yet, there have *got* to be accidents — and surrounded by all these other students and teachers, that means witnesses...] Marie pondered the matter as her classmate and fellow mutant Aurora led her to algebra (like all the "regular school" classes, shared with the non-mutant students). Nothing like trying to keep a secret to make one appreciate methods of concealment...

[Somehow I don’t think Frosty would have the least little problem with cleaning up after "accidents" by making all the witnesses forget what they saw,} Inner Logan muttered darkly.

The idea seemed to fit. [Might as well give everyone practice in passing for "normal" where there’s someone around to keep a lid on things when they mess up,] Rogue figured. [Too bad we gotta sneak around like this, though. Guess Frosty isn’t real big on mutants and humans co-existing peacefully the way the Professor is.]

[Hmmph. If Chuckie’s so big on humans and mutants getting along, why does he hide all the mutie students on the school grounds to look like he’s got a normal school from the outside?] came the voice of subliminal suspicion, Logan being cynical as ever.

Erik’s fainter voice — lingering after having been inadvertently brought to the fore by Emma’s meddling the previous day — provided the response. [Because Charles, even with his foolish idealism, has *just* enough practicality to prefer that his students learn to defend themselves before he sends them out to play nice with the humans...]

[Can’t argue with *that,*] Inner Wolvie grumbled, the idea appealing to his paranoia.

[So I guess the mutants here are just learning to control their powers and blend in. Probably no superhero stuff.] Responding to Logan’s firm approval of the idea of "no superhero stuff," she added, [Just as well. I’m not entirely sure I’d want to be on the same side as Emma Frost when it came down to mutant vigilante action...]

* * *

It was a sentiment she would remember ruefully later that same day, as she found herself in one of her scheduled "practice" sessions — which turned out to be not what she was expecting at all.

Marie had been expecting that "practice" referred to learning to use and control mutant abilities. Well, it did — but she was used to Xavier or one of the other teachers (especially Jean or Scott) working with individuals or small groups in a classroom or gym (or outside, in the cases of the more incendiary mutants like St. John or Jubilee) on exercises and even creatively-designed games to hone their skills. (Or, on a more personal level, her own "practice" sessions with Logan, which had been not only creative but intensely pleasant — and ultimately much more successful than anything Xavier had been able to come up with in terms of controlling her frequently-inconvenient mutation.)

And she was also used to the training sessions that Logan habitually ran. _First you learn to *fight*, and *then* you learn to fight with your powers. And if you try pulling any of that mutation crap on me before I say you’re ready — <Snikt!> — then I go using *mine* on *you*, and you’ll have a few scars to remind you next time!_ Not that he’d ever given the speech to Marie — he never had to. Between a few scares in her time on the road and that whole unpleasant getting-carried-off-by-evil-mutants thing, topped off by the Wolverine in her head, she already knew how very seriously to take the combat lessons he had started giving her the previous summer and autumn.

All of which went to say, that Marie was used to various forms of working with one’s powers, and also used to walking into a practice ring or the equivalent and attempting to pound an opponent silly with fists and feet. But what she *wasn’t* used to, was the command that she had just been given.

"You want me to *what*?"

"I want you to attack me using your gift," the burly mutant facing her repeated, with a touch of impatience.

Marie eyed him warily. It was what she had thought he said the first time, but she had wanted to be sure. "Do you know what my gift *is*?" she asked incredulously.

He shrugged. "I’ll find out when you try to use it on me, won’t I?" Impatience was transmuting into annoyance.

"And do you have some sort of gift that’ll protect you from whatever I’ve got?" She suspected not, judging by the name he had given in response to her self-introduction as Rogue — "Beef." [Looks big but not too bright. He may be used to getting by on his size — but he’s probably a mutant, so watch out for tricks,] Inner Wolverine warned, happily sizing up the opponent.

He sneered — actually *sneered*. "I doubt I’ll need protection."

[Dumbass,] Subliminal Logan growled. Marie agreed. [He knows you’re a mutant, he *knows* you’ve got a surprise up your sleeve and it might be a *real* good one.]

[Sugar, I don’t think he’s expecting that a little gal like me will be able to take out a big strong guy like him.] She tilted her head to one side, consideringly. [Won’t *he* be surprised...]

Without giving him the slightest warning, she lunged. And with inhuman speed, he stepped aside. But Marie was thoroughly used to a sparring partner with enhanced reflexes, and cautious enough — especially after Wolvie’s warning — to have been prepared to find her target replaced by thin air. Reflex took over, and she leapt aside a fraction of a second before the contemptuous swat cut through the empty space she should have been occupying. Which left *him* unbalanced with the unexpected miss, and she followed up on her brief advantage with a stiff hand to the solar plexus. As he bent in the middle she made sure that his sinking face met her rising knee. A foot sweep floored her dazed opponent.

Standing over Beef, she shook her head with mock disappointment. "Why would I need to use my gift when I can do this well without it?"

Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the gym. Although she deemed it wisest to leave the scene quickly (before the young man recovered enough from the physical hurts to become angered by the more lasting injury to his ego), an overly hasty exit might have appeared to have been motivated by fear of retaliation. Undignified. Attitude was everything — *especially* when alone in the camp of the enemy.

Besides, she had just thought of someplace she’d rather be, with something she needed to be doing.

Plan A had arrived fully-formed in Rogue’s overpopulated head, spawned by Beef’s carelessness with an unknown quantity and the implied disdain for skills in combat on a strictly physical level.

* * *

Wonder of wonders, Frost was in her office, and alone. Rogue let herself in after only a perfunctory knock, Wolverine still too prominent in her mind to allow much patience for time-consuming courtesies. Emma looked up from some paperwork and frowned. "Marie, shouldn’t you be in practice?" Her tone managed to carry the additional message, [And you had best have a damned good explanation for being here instead.]

"Practice ended early. I managed to drop Beef inside of a minute without breaking a sweat — *or* having to use my gift. Is he the best you can come up with for combat sessions?"

Emma raised a carefully shaped eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

"He walked in and told me to attack him — using my gift, he said — but admitted that he had no idea what kind of power I had. And going into a fight against an opponent of unknown abilities — a *known* mutant, I might add — he was so careless I was able to render him horizontal in less than a minute." [Thank you for the report, Sergeant Logan!] Marie thought with amusement.

[Right idea, wrong rank,] was his cryptic response.

Frost blinked in astonishment.

Marie sensed an advantage and plunged ahead. "You need an experienced combat instructor for the initial assessment at least, even if you let someone else take over for helping with the basics or sparring matches. Please don’t tell me that *Beef* was the best fighter you’ve got."

Self-possession regained, Frost gave Rogue an appropriately chilly gaze. "Sparring matches between the students increase *both* your skills. He needs more practice in facing unusual powers, and you seem to need practice in using *yours* in a combat situation."

Marie sighed. "In case you’ve forgotten your little stroll through my head, every time I use my powers I get another person jostling for room up *here*," tapping her temple meaningfully. "And in case you missed the point of my having floored Beef, I already *have* practice in a ‘combat situation’ — just without treating my power as the first option to go for." A pause to let that sink in, and then the strike. "*Don’t* you have a genuine combat instructor? Or someone to teach self defense that doesn’t resort to using our mutations?"

Emma frowned. Answer enough.

[Okay, she may be going for the bait. Let’s try to set the hook...] Rogue smiled, giving Emma an appropriately vixenish gaze. "How would you like the chance to hire someone with experience, not just in giving self-defense lessons, but in giving them to mutants? Working both with and without using their powers?"

There was a flicker of interest in Frost’s eyes, before her expression turned coolly impassive again. "And you just *happen* to know of just such a person, who just *happens* to be seeking employment."

Marie didn’t lose her smile. "Yes I do. And he *has* a job, but he was getting ready to leave it."

Again the delicately arched eyebrow. "And he would just happen to be delighted to come here and work for me."

‘Oh yes." She didn’t even need to ask him — her Subliminal Logan had been in favor of the plan ever since it occurred to her.

"And your motivation in setting this up would be?"

Rogue hesitated, before, "I’ll answer that, if you’ll honestly answer one question for me... What are you expecting your students to get into that you teach them how to fight with their mutations almost from the first, rather than simply how to use and control their powers?"

Frost raised an eyebrow. "Probably the same situations Xavier was clearly training his students for, if he’s got a self-defense instructor on his staff."

Marie frowned. The fact that Xavier’s school also doubled as the training ground for would-be mutant superheroes was something she was unwilling to discuss with Emma Frost. But arguing that Emma seemed to have neatly sidestepped her question could well have brought the X-Men up, so she let the point drop. "My motivation would be that the self-defense instructor happens to be someone I want to stay close to — someone who’s already said he’s willing to move to follow me, here or to Mississippi."

Emma raised an eyebrow. "This someone wouldn’t happen to be the same someone you were practicing using your control on, would it?"

[She’d know that as soon as she saw him — she’s seen enough of my memories.] Which didn’t stop Subliminal Wolvie from growling in annoyance. "Yes, it would."

Emma raised the other eyebrow. "So you’re asking me to hire someone as an instructor with the full knowledge that he would intend to carry on an affair with one of my students?"

Marie sensed that telling Frost she’d leave the school if Logan weren’t allowed to come there would come across as a petty threat, a touch of adolescent drama. (Besides, if she *had* to leave it was better not to forewarn the enemy that she might be doing so.) So instead she said, "He’s worth having here, and in any case he and I have *been* having an affair already."

Frost leaned back in her chair. "At your age, a relationship with a grown man isn’t particularly healthy. And if you *are* so important to one another, then surely the two of you can wait a few years until you’re grown."

Marie set her jaw. Protesting her own maturity was not the path of wisdom — nor was leaping across the desk to grab that slender white throat. [Hell of an idea, though,] Inner Wolvie muttered. "He’s been the only one I could practice my control on safely, and he’s been taking care of me besides." Sensing a genuinely useful line of attack, she added, "And given the fighting skills Beef showed earlier — or rather, his lack thereof — if you want your students to have the best training possible, you owe it to them to get a better combat instructor."

Emma frowned. "Assuming that we really *needed* to hire a ‘better combat instructor,’ surely I could find one elsewhere who would be able to keep his hands off the female students?"

"How many could you find that were not only willing to train mutants, but had actual experience in working with armed and unarmed combat *and* mutant powers? And he does fine at keeping his hands off the other students — aside from me."

Emma regarded the girl steadily. "Just how do you expect me to respond to this... offer of yours?"

"By agreeing to at least give him a chance. Talk to him, see his moves and how well he can teach them to others, satisfy yourself that he’s what I’m promising."

Allowing a hint of her exasperation to show, "And if I do so? Do you expect me to sit back and allow the two of you to carry out your liaison on the grounds of my respectable school?"

"As if a school training mutants was all that ‘respectable’," Marie groused, before belatedly realizing that the Rogue wasn’t the most diplomatic of personalities to use for this discussion. "We’re used to being discreet. We wouldn’t let it become a scandal, or expect you to let us to move in together or anything like that..." A pause, before adding shrewdly, "You’re a telepath. You’ll be able to keep an eye on him, to *know* that he’s not doing anything with any of the other students that he shouldn’t be."

Setting her mouth in a distasteful line, "Very well. I will ‘interview’ this man and see if he is anything like you’ve claimed. But I make no promises to hire him..."

Marie smiled. "That’s good enough." She fully expected Logan to dazzle Frosty — and if he didn’t, well, at least he’d be *here* — making it easier to formulate Plans B or C if necessary...

* * *

It was nearly two AM, and Logan was going down to the school’s computer lab to — he could barely believe it — check his e-mail.

Thankfully, the lab was empty. (As he had hoped the late hour would ensure.) Also thankfully, the computers were still on, albeit with the screen savers running. He frowned at the branching pipework assembling itself across the nearest darkened screen, gingerly seating himself before the largely unfamiliar equipment. Fortunately his elbow joggled the mouse while he was still wondering how to make the computer work properly, disabling the screen saver and returning the monitor to the desktop he remembered Marie having shown him the previous week.

/"See, you click on the little wheel — like a ship’s wheel..."/

It took some fumbling and false starts, but he got the pointer to the Navigator icon. After repeated annoyed clicking of the mouse buttons, he finally managed to double-click and open the program. It took a few tries before he remembered to include the ":" after the "http," but eventually he managed to pull up the Hotmail screen.

/"One hundred seventy-five? How the hell can there be that many people already using the name ‘Wolverine’?"

With a little giggle, "Maybe there are a lot of Michigan football fans..."/

The password was easy enough to remember — Marie had chosen it... The screen it sent him to was confusingly cluttered, but he remembered to click on the little "Inbox" to the left, and when it pulled up his messages there it was... "Hey, sugar!" from _Marie Gordon_. By now having the idea to click on the little underlined words, he managed to pull up the message text by clicking on Marie’s name, and read:

_"Logan,_

_I don’t have a lot of time before I get booted off the computer to let someone else on for school stuff, but I just wanted to drop you a line. It’s been interesting so far, and I have a lot less secrets here than I did at Xavier’s — and a job opening for you. I’ll try to call when I can..._

_Love,  
Marie"_

He couldn’t keep from grinning at that, just a little bit — so they hadn’t gone to all the trouble of setting this account up for nothing. And if that "job opening" meant what it looked like — could he be moving to Frost’s Academy? If it got him back to Marie, he was willing enough...

That bit about having a lot less secrets, though — that might be worrisome. Examining his options in all the little pale blue buttons, he tried "Reply" and was rewarded with a blank message to <rogue_belle2001@yahoo.com>:

_"baby,_  
i managed to figure out how to work the damn computer and i read your message. i want to hear more about that job you got lined up for me" — frowning as a thought occurred to him — _"and what did you mean by having_ less secrets there? if that means you can’t really talk to me on the computer, that’s fine — you got my number.  
love,  
logan"

He eyed the message thoughtfully, wondering if there was anything to add or remove, before hitting "Send."

Really, that signature said the most important thing.

Satisfied that his first unguided foray onto the internet had gone so well, he found the "Passport log out" button and left the computer without bothering to close the Navigator window. This called for a beer.

* * *

The cell phone was a pain in the ass, but if it kept Xavier from using Cerebro to snoop him out when he was wanted back in Westchester then it was worth carrying around. He still hadn’t quite solved the problem of the ringing tone, though — he suspected Marie and her roommates of making a game out of resetting it every chance they got to "borrow" it from him, and he never could remember how to find his way through the menus to the one that set the ringing tone without Marie to show him. Which meant that he ran the risk of having an embarrassingly fruity song suddenly playing from his pocket in a dingy bar or strip joint.

He hadn’t actually gone out tonight, but the phone was on anyway — so he was the only person present to be annoyed by the wispy scale trilling from the phone at an annoyingly piercing volume. The stupid ring wasn’t enough to upset him tonight, though — with him being right there in his room at Chuckie’s, the only person with reason to call him at *this* number was...

"Marie?"

"Yep, that’s me!" Giggly and happy and — well, not there in his room, but still he was hearing her voice for the first time in more than a week, so it was much better than having nothing of her there at all.

"How’s it going?" Which was inane, absolutely inane, but he wasn’t so good with talk when he didn’t have anything that really needed saying, except that, "I’ve missed you."

"I missed you too — but I’ve been doing something about that."

"And?"

"And the Massachusetts Academy is in *desperate* need of a *competent* self-defense instructor." A pause, and then a shift to a quieter tone. "One who’s used to teaching mutants — but can pass for normal for the ‘regular’ students."

"‘Regular’ students? They’re mixing you with kids who aren’t mutants?"

"That’s right."

"And they’ve got the mutants passing for normal?"

"That’s right."

"Even you?"

A little pause, then, "Yeah."

"Without your gloves and all that? And they ain’t worried?"

A slightly longer pause, then, "Ms. Frost checked me out on my second day there. She knows I have control."

"Ah."

"Yeah... And she knows how I got it."

"*Ah*."

"And I got her to agree that she needs a self-defense instructor, so she’s willing to talk to you and see what you can do..."

"But?"

"But, you’re probably gonna have to really wow her to get her to decide to hire you."

"I think I can manage."

"Yeah, if anyone can wow Frosty, it’s *you*..."

A chuckle.

* * *

Logan’s own grasp of the rules of common courtesy was hazy at best. However, he was vaguely aware that he should say something to Xavier — and maybe to Scooter and Jeannie and Ro, as well — before just hopping onto his bike and leaving the X-Mansion for good.

So after he’d taken the things he wanted and thrown them into a bag — not a whole hell of a lot, really, but then he’d learned to pack light after years on the road — he headed down to Xavier’s classroom. His timing was just right, catching the Professor as the students were filing out of the room at the end of class.

Waiting until Chuck was the only person left in the room, he walked in, pack slung over one shoulder. "I’m heading out now. Don’t know when I’ll be back — *if* I’ll be back. Don’t let Scooter fuck up the combat classes too bad."

Xavier looked taken aback. "Is there anything wrong?"

Logan wasn’t sure why Wheels was so startled — had they really thought they had him tied down for good? Or was it just that he and Marie had done *that* good a job of hiding the true extent of their relationship? "Nah, just no reason to stay. So I’m going."

"No reason to — Logan, you’re a valuable member of our team and a skilled instructor. We had hoped you had found a place here — as a friend. Family, even."

All of which made Logan distinctly uncomfortable. There was a definite guilt factor involved, both in the thought of the do-gooders running off to battle without him to bail their asses out of trouble, and in the thought of the kids graduating to join the leather crew without him there to pound some sense into their heads before they got themselves killed. And yes, he *did* like a fair number of the people here — quite a bit, in some cases...

...But the person he liked the best had moved to another state. And he wasn’t going to let Chuckie talk him out of following her. "I don’t do real well with being tied down."

The Professor gave him an intense gaze. "Are you entirely certain there isn’t some reason why you’ve chosen *now* for an attack of wanderlust?"

Caution kept him from the truth — because he wasn’t entirely sure he and Marie wouldn’t be able to swing a return to Xavier’s one way or another, and because Marie wouldn’t reach the age of consent in this state for some time. "It seemed like the right time to go."

"I won’t be able to talk you into staying, will I?"

"I’m not planning on it."

"Are you going to say good bye to them?"

He hesitated, thinking of Kitty and Jubilee, Kurt and Jeannie — even Scooter. "I don’t do real well with goodbyes."

But somehow his path out of the X-Mansion took him through the lunchroom, where most of the students and teachers alike were gathered. And on his way to the door, he took the time to pass by a few tables. Most of them, in fact.

He didn’t say a lot, nor did he stop anywhere long enough to get into a genuine conversation. But by the time he’d exited the building, the point had gotten across. The Wolverine had left the building — and it was anyone’s guess as to when — or if — he’d be back.

* * *

Marie hadn’t spent much time bonding with her new classmates. There was a certain degree of curiosity about the pretty new girl — with her mutant classmates being especially interested in the girl who had attended an alternate school for the "gifted" that none of them had even heard of before. She was wary about giving too many details — for one thing, she didn’t want to blow the X-Men’s cover. For another, she was hoping that Logan would soon be added to the faculty at the Massachusetts Academy — and she was afraid of saying something that might jeopardize that. Letting alone the fact that he was her lover, he was a violent man unimpressed with little things like petty legalities or keeping impressionable youth away from liquor, sex or bad language. With his potential acceptance at Frost’s school at risk, she considered him to be a sort of conversational minefield. Unfortunately, for her most talk of Xavier’s led to Logan — so she spoke as little on her former school as she could.

Which meant that her fellow students had no idea either that she had a boyfriend back at Xavier’s, or that they might soon be getting a new instructor.

* * *  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan interviews for a new job. Marie has a conversation with her parents that doesn't go as well as hoped.

* * *

"Karate is a form of martial arts in which people who have had years and years of training can, using only their hands and feet, make some of the worst movies in the history of the world."  
— Dave Barry

* * *

Logan made it to the Academy by late afternoon, following the driving directions Marie had e-mailed him. The easiest thing to do would have been to print out the message, but without Marie there to guide him through the process he wound up just grabbing a blank sheet of printer paper and writing the directions down.

The "security" was laughable — motion detectors opened the gates, and he drove his motorcycle right in. The administration building wasn’t overly difficult to pick out — large and central, with fewer between-classes students going in or out. Logan was given pause by the number of students, and wondered just how many or how few might be mutants.

Brazenly sauntering into the lobby of the building, he checked for signs — like, "This way to the Ice Queen’s office" — and was greeted by a matronly woman behind a desk, some sort of secretary, receptionist, or administrator. "May I help you?" she asked, politely but with a edge to her voice to match her obvious assessment of, "Too old to be a student, too scruffy to be a teacher."

"Yes, I’m looking for Emma Frost." [Whoops, almost called her "Frosty." Might not be the best way to go to a job interview...]

"And you would be?" A more careful assessment, as she tried to decide whether he qualified as "legitimate business" or "riff-raff."

"Logan. From Xavier’s School for the Gifted," he reluctantly added, hoping that the "academic credentials" would improve matters.

They didn’t. The secretary’s face set in disbelief, as she made a show of checking a schedule planner. "I’m sorry, but I don’t have you down for an appointment."

[Guess I didn’t look academic enough — or maybe it was the "gifted" part that threw her.] "I didn’t have one." Sensing the approaching brushoff, he added, "I’ll just go find her myself, let her know I’m here," quickly heading past the desk into the bowels of the administration complex. He remembered Frosty’s scent from when she came to get Marie, and could no doubt track her to her lair.

After a few token protests of, "Sir — sir! I can’t allow you to go in there," his preternaturally sharp hearing clearly picked up the receptionist’s murmur into her phone. "Ma’am, we have a breach in security. A ‘gentleman’ claiming to be a Mr. Logan from Xavier’s School is heading to the private levels."

Emma’s response, non-whispered but via a phone’s handset, was fainter but still audible. "How interesting. I’ll set a few of the more advanced students to stopping him. This should be a good test..."

Logan grinned to himself as he rounded the corner and Frost’s voice was lost. Whether the test was intended for the students or for himself was an open question, but it mattered not. Flooring a cadre of half-trained teenagers without the use of any weaponry or funky mutant powers — without, in fact, breaking a sweat — would more than amply prove Marie’s claims as to his skills and the students’ lack thereof.

Frost’s scent was all through this building, but strengthening in this direction. He kept his ears — and nose — open for warning signals of impending attack, but the ambush when it came was so clumsy that it would have mattered little had he blundered into it unwarned and unprepared.

Possibly they were trying not to be heard, attempting to sneak up on him through a connecting passageway he was approaching. But he could hear footsteps, breathing, a cough and a muffled, "Shh!" He smirked and kept walking as though unaware of their presence — but when they suddenly popped out of the passageway to block his path, he couldn’t resist a chuckle.

There were five of them. Three boys, two girls. Halting and looking them over, he asked disingenuously, "What are you, the welcome committee?"

One of the guys stepped forward. "I’m sorry, this area isn’t for casual visitors. I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave now." He didn’t sound particularly apologetic, despite his words. The very faint accent sounded Middle Eastern or North African.

"What if I don’t want to leave?" Logan crossed his arms, taking up a casual-looking stance but nevertheless ready to leap into action.

"Then you get carried out," announced another of the guys. It was Beef (though Logan didn’t know this yet), and he was still smarting at having been beaten up by a chick mere days before. He pounded a fist into the opposite palm, anticipating violence and clearly looking forward to it.

[Big and dumb. Probably expects his size to carry him through any fight.] "Really? And which of you brats is going to take me down?"

That was enough to set match to powder. Beef lunged for Wolverine, who happily ducked aside at the last possible fraction of a second, adding a shove as the young man went past to send him crashing to the floor. Deliberately he turned his head to watch the punk hit the tiles, pretending to be ignoring the other four students. [That’s it, kiddies, I’ve got my back turned and everything. Which of you is gonna try to hit me when I’m "not expecting it"?]

He heard the footsteps and rapidly-nearing breathing and heartbeat as one of them took the offered bait, and when he whirled it was one of the girls — the one with the interestingly lavender-grey hair. Ducking her rapid swipe at his face, he backhanded her into a wall. She twisted in midflight, hitting the wall hands-first rather than against her unprotected back or side, and bounced back into another attack. Logan was impressed by her reflexes — though not by her sloppy and thoroughly telegraphed assault. Ducking her first couple of strikes, he went for a chin shot, which connected. This time when she hit the wall, she slid down it, dazed.

The entire confrontation with her had taken less than a minute, during which time her supposed teammates seemed to have been standing around gawking or something. Logan was taking mental notes for dressing his potential students down in future lessons. [Sloppy, sloppy, sloppy. A real fight is *not* like a kung-fu movie — the group does *not* politely take turns attacking the single fighter so he can take them out one by one...]

Wolverine was still waiting for one of the kids to start using freaky mutant shit on him — but whatever interesting new powers he might have run across were apparently being withheld to prevent taking out a teammate through "friendly fire," as Beef charged in again. [Dumbass. Clearly needs to learn about teamwork, also known as "How *not* to get in each other’s way."] Wolvie blocked the hit with his forearm, grinning at the look on the ox’s face as the shock of fist hitting metal reverberated up his arm. It had been a pretty hard blow, actually — it figured that *this* guy’s mutation would be for enhanced strength or something like that — but Logan was just the wrong kind of target for the brute force approach. Using the ever-so-brief pause created by Beef staring at him in mingled pain and startlement, Wolvie returned punch for punch — but *his* landed on the kid’s jaw. It took another two or three strikes on Wolverine’s part, but he managed to knock the big guy on his ass again. [Strike two.]

As the ox hit the floor, Wolvie dived to one side. Some form of electrical bolt crackled through the space he’d just occupied. With as much time as he’d spent around Storm while she was on the attack (whether on a mission or in the Danger Room), the ozone scent and staticky crackle of the air had been enough to signal him to get the hell out of the way.

It was a matter of some debate whether Logan’s metal-laced frame made him more susceptible to electrical shock, or actually served to protect him as a sort of internal lightning rod system. Not wanting to test Hank’s theory in a combat situation, Wolvie dived for the kid who still reeked of ozone, knocking him flying and then knocking him silly with a few well-placed punches.

Turnabout being fair play, Wolverine himself was then slammed into by that first guy, the one who had told him to leave. Apparently he had borrowed a trick from Sam "Cannonball" Guthrie, the human — or rather, mutant — rocket. Well, guided missiles could be taken out via their control mechanisms. A good right-cross to the face downed Rocket Boy (and Logan along with him), allowing Wolvie to make sure that the kid wouldn’t be getting back up anytime soon. Then he jumped aside again, easily ducking something the remaining girl had just thrown at him. Whatever the hell it was she was flinging, he’d just evaded barbecuing — it was the sudden rush of heat that had warned him he’d become a target again.

Before he could take out the girl tossing the fireballs, the lavender-haired chick was after him again. Dazed and angry, her technique was even worse than before — but he had to hand it to her for wading back into the fight. Not that it stopped him from decking her again — but he approved of her tenacity. [I like this one. She’s got potential.]

Then he sidestepped another charge from that goddamned ox, putting himself next to Fireball Girl almost as if by accident and dropping her before she realized her danger. That just left Beef to deal with, but he was proving bloody hard to take out for good. Now that the rest of the team was down, Wolverine had the leisure to choke him into unconsciousness with an arm around the throat from behind. With blood rather than merely oxygen being cut off, a few seconds was all it took.

Surveying the remains of the assault team, Logan shook his head disapprovingly. [Pitiful, just pitiful. *Scooter* could have trained these kids better.]

* * *

"When authorities warn you of the sinfulness of sex, there is an important lesson to be learned. Do not have sex with the authorities."  
— "Basic Sex Facts For Today's Youngfolk" from _Life In Hell_ by Matt Groening

* * *

Emma frowned at the tableau presented by her downed students and their unharmed target. She was managing not to look impressed — but just barely. "What a fine showing you make against untrained children."

Logan raised an eyebrow at her. "Funny, I thought they were here to *get* training. And you must have thought they actually had a shot at taking me out, or you wouldn’t have been so casual about sending them to deal with me."

Emma raised her own brow to mirror his expression. "What makes you think I sent them to ‘deal with’ you?"

"It’s what I overhead you telling your secretary you’d do."

The eyebrow dropped, the chill poise cracked for just a moment.

"But they prove Rogue’s point. If this was the best they could do, you *really* need someone competent teaching them how to fight before one of them manages to get killed."

Emma frowned, then her face cleared. Glancing about at her downed students, she actually allowed a flicker of concern to appear on her face.

Logan approved. It was the most humanity she’d shown so far. "They should be all right. I was pulling my punches." As her eyebrows raised in disbelief or startlement, he added, "If you’ve got an infirmary or something like that, we could take them all there to be checked over."

In response, Frost headed for an intercom at a nearby doorway. "Camilla, please send people to the main downstairs hallway to carry some students to the infirmary. We’ve had a..."

As she hesitated, searching for a plausible excuse, Logan offered, "Volleyball accident."

She glared at him, before continuing, "Slight training mishap."

Satisfied that the wounded were tended to, Emma led Logan to her own office. Closing the door behind him, she offered him a seat, which he ignored. "So, Mr...?"

"Logan. Just Logan."

"All right, Just Logan, so after spending how long working at ‘Xavier’s School for the Gifted’...?" She paused, irony making the quotation marks audible.

"About a year."

"One year working at Xavier’s, you suddenly feel compelled to leave this position and seek employment elsewhere."

"That’s right."

"Any particular reason why?"

He hesitated, reminding himself of how much Marie said this woman already knew. "I was at Chuckie’s" — she looked startled at the nickname — "to be with someone, and with her gone, I didn’t care to stay."

"I see. And were you aware of the age of consent in the state of New York? It’s seventeen, I believe."

"*Really*? We thought it was eighteen!"

"And were you aware that young Miss Gordon is *sixteen*?"

"Sure — got her a present on her last birthday and everything." Mood noticeably shifting from "provokingly obtuse" to "bluntly serious," he added, "If you’re trying to point out that I had — I *have* — an underaged girlfriend, you’re right. I admit it. But it was only Marie — I’m not in the habit of jumping on random teenagers. So if you’re worrying about me having problems keeping my hands off your students, don’t be — it’s just Marie."

"I’ll keep that under advisement," Emma said drily, but her expression had cleared somewhat. And then her attitude visibly shifted, as her gaze went from stern to assessing, eyes thoughtfully wandering down his form and back up again. Changing the subject, "So, Mist— Logan, that was quite a display you put on out there. Where on *earth* did you learn to fight like that?"

He shrugged. "Here and there," not wanting to admit that he couldn’t remember.

"You’ve been a combat instructor at Xavier’s School for a year now — what were you doing before that?"

Logan wasn’t sure he appreciated her look of alert interest — or maybe it was just his standard reluctance at talking about his sketchy past — but she still hadn’t given him the job yet. So it behooved him to play nice. "Wandering. This and that. No steady job." Matching action to words, he started idly walking around the room, examining the pictures on the walls.

"I see." Logan assumed that she was questioning his lack of references (barring Chuckie), until she commented, "Sort of a vagabond rogue, then."

"That would be a polite way to put it." *Very* polite — almost Disneyized. He paused for a closer look at a photo — Frosty with a group of adolescents. He recognized slightly younger versions of some of the kids he’d just thrashed.

"Working for Xavier must have been quite a change for you."

He shrugged. "Some. Got a permanent address, someplace to leave stuff. I still got to run off sometimes — got sent to pick up new kids and all that. Still managed to get into fights," he added — then immediately wished that he hadn’t.

Marie hadn’t said whether Frosty knew about the X-Men or not... If Frosty was setting herself up as Wheels’ rival in more ways than one, Logan wasn’t gonna be the one to go spilling his guts to her. Changing jobs was one things — screwing over the X-Crew in the process was something else entirely.

Unfortunately Emma pounced on that little slip of his. "I hope you’re not referring to your training sessions with the students..."

"No, I... I go out to bars. Sometimes even fight bars." Stroke of luck that his near embarrassment at nearly giving the X-Men away was easily passed off as a reaction to being forced to admit his own rough and ready ways. One thing was for sure, he wasn’t making himself out to be a very good "role model" type to have around her little preppie mutants-in-training...

"How... fascinating," she purred. Thing was, she didn’t sound at all sarcastic. Halting in his circuit of the room — Logan was on his second orbit by now — he turned to face her. Emma took a step towards him, bring herself more than close enough for him to get a good whiff identifying the cause of her interest.

[Uh-oh.] Ordinarily, he might have been encouraged. Flirting with the potential boss lady would probably help him get hired — and Frosty was a pretty goddamn *hot*-looking ice princess.

But "ordinary circumstances" for him in no way included Marie.

He didn’t let himself appear alarmed, instead watching her intently. Taking his undivided attention as an encouraging sign, she took another step towards him. "Logan, would you care for a drink?"

[What the hell kind of school principal keeps liquor in her *office*?] "Nah, I’m fine."

"Are you sure?" she asked, moving to a cabinet and taking out a key.

[Well, at least she keeps it locked up.] "Maybe later," meaning that he might hit a bar or raid a liquor store later on that evening.

"Perhaps," she consented, giving him a sidelong glance as she put her key away. Logan belatedly realized that she had taken his response as indicating interest in having a drink with *her* later. "So tell me, Logan — what’s a grown man like yourself doing with a teenager when he could no doubt have just about any woman he wanted?" Walking towards him again, he watched her with the same attention he would give an approaching viper — something capable of rapid and painful attack, something to be wary of. Mistaking his intent gaze for a reciprocation of her interest, she pressed on. "A *grown* woman — one with mature tastes and... skills. Not a little girl just a few years past Barbie dolls and bicycles."

"Marie’s absorbed a few other people. Some of them are a long way past toys. She’s older on the inside than she looks."

"Perhaps — but she’s still a girl," Emma said dismissively. "Not even legal. Wouldn’t you rather have someone a little more —" close enough now for him to feel her breath on his cheek "— knowledgeable?"

He met the pale blue eyes for a moment before breaking eye contact and stepping away, putting some distance between them. "Like I said, she’s got other people in her head. She’s plenty ‘knowledgeable’."

He tossed a casual glance over his shoulder at Frost, catching the faintly annoyed expression as she said, "Perhaps. But perhaps you should also consider — how very, very hard it may be for her as a young girl paired with a much-older man. Like it or don’t, she’s going to have some very pretty... *expectations* of you. You seem to have made the shift from ‘wandering vagabond’ to ‘schoolteacher’ — can you claim to be ready to even *consider* a wife and children, a dog and a house in the suburbs?"

Emma Frost was *not* a person he’d have picked to go over his future plans with. He’d have sooner discussed it with Magneto, frankly. (He really *would* have. In lieu of kicking the crap out of Lensherr, sitting him down and telling the old fucker all about the bright future he had almost taken from an innocent girl — *and* a mutant, one of those he claimed to be trying to save — would have been a great way to blow off steam.)

But carting his metal-laden self off to the incarcerated Master of Magnetism would have been patently unwise — and the secrecy of his relationship with Marie had precluded discussion with the X-Crew. So it looked like he was reduced to playing True Confessions with the ice queen here.

Hey, at least it seemed to be distracting her from attempted seduction.

"I want Marie to have what she wants for her life. To be able to go around without being afraid of getting touched, yeah. College, no problem. A wedding ring and some kids, fine. And I *like* dogs."

Emma looked nonplussed at this speech — but then she decided what response to take. "So you say you’re... committed to Marie."

It was phrased as a statement, not a question, but he answered it anyway. "Yes."

"And you want to give her what she wants, and also to be with her yourself, I presume?"

"Yes."

"So getting hired on here is *important* to you — to the both of you."

"Yes." He sensed a trap ahead, though as yet the form it would take remained unclear.

"And I’m the one who decides whether or not you get to be with her for the next year and a half."

Things were falling very nastily into place now. "Yes."

"So, you *really* need to get on my good side. Impress me." A pause as if for thought, then, "Any suggestions?"

Logan had a few, but none that would earn him much goodwill from Frosty. "I get the idea you had something in mind." [Please, please let it be a mutant terrorist organization you need a hatchet man for,] he prayed, knowing full well that, Xavier’s rivals or not, a recruitment pitch for a super group was not the trap being laid for him.

Standing close again, Emma thoughtfully ran a finger along the collar of his T-shirt, fingertip teasing at the skin beneath. "Why don’t I offer you that drink again, and then perhaps you and I could go over to my private apartment and you could impress me there?"

"And if I say no?"

She frowned at him, albeit prettily. "You *do* have that option."

"And what will it do to my chances of getting a job here?"

She gave him an *almost* wicked look, too composed and polished for true roguishness. "I fear your disinterest in adhering to the wishes of your potential employer wouldn’t speak well for you."

"And if I say yes?"

"Then you have the opportunity to impress me with your... Enthusiasm for the job. Thorough attention to detail. Tireless dedication to your work. Skill at carrying out required physical tasks. That sort of thing."

"But will it get me the job?"

She pursed her lips. "I’m afraid I can’t promise that *now*. You might prove to be entirely unsuitable."

"So you’re saying I need to climb into bed with you, and if I ‘impress’ you then you *might* decide to keep me around?"

A delicate frown. "You put things very boldly. I haven’t decided yet whether I find that refreshing or merely boorish."

Logan gave no indication that he actually did know what ‘boorish’ meant. "A straight answer, now."

"Well, if you insist upon being crude about it, then I suppose you have the terms of the arrangement correctly."

"No."

"No?" sculpted brows raising in polite disbelief.

"No. No arrangement."

"Then, I’m afraid, no job." She folded her arms, expression a blend of annoyance at having her advances spurned and pleasure at displaying her power over him.

Logan merely nodded, showing no sign of emotion for her to take petty satisfaction from. He turned and left her office.

He’d need to leave the school grounds pretty soon, or risk an ugly scene as Frost would no doubt try to have him *thrown* out — but first he needed to find Marie.

* * *

Forget light — gossip has the fastest speed of travel in the known universe. Marie could therefore have been expected to rapidly hear of the mysteriously sideburned assailant who had wiped the floor with five of the "best-trained" students.

In this instance, gossip was slightly delayed by the recovery time required for the witnesses. Not by much, though, because Marc had taken so little damage and Angelica was out of the infirmary right behind him. By the time Logan stalked out of Frost’s office, the pair had tracked down a couple of mutant classmates studying in the library and hauled them out to a more conversation-friendly locale. Sharon and Haroun found them all clustered in a rec room and were able to add some intriguing additional information. Sharon, aka Catseye, had the enhanced senses that seemed to come with so many animalistic mutations, and she had overheard Ms. Frost’s administrative assistant, Camilla, complaining about the "brute who thought he could bluff his way past me by claiming to be from ‘Xavier’s School for the Gifted’!"

This raised more questions, such as: Was he really from Xavier’s? And if not, how had he known the name of the Massachusetts Academy’s competitor? And whether he was from Xavier’s or not, why had he come *here*?

The idea immediately presented itself, to seek out the recent Xavier student and see how many of their questions she might be able to at least shed light on, if not answer completely.

As it happened, they weren’t the only ones looking for Marie. Catseye’s nose was as sensitive as her ears — but Logan’s was more so, and not only did he have more years’ experience at tracking prey, but he left the administrative building and started looking for Marie first.

So when the mixed group of mutants headed for the cafeteria to catch Rogue at dinner, they arrived in the quad just in time to see...

* * *

Marie had just dropped her chemistry books off in her room and was heading for dinner. She knew Logan would be arriving today, and was abstractedly wondering when he’d get there and whether she’d get to see him before he faced the Ice Queen in her stronghold.

With thoughts like these in her mind, she was therefore unsurprised to heard a sudden voice behind her.

"Hey. These preppies been treatin’ you all right?"

"*LOGAN*!!" she yelped in glee, diving into his arms. Vaguely aware that they were in a populated part of the campus, she only intended a platonic-appearing (albeit enthusiastic) hug.

So when he put a hand under her jaw and lifted it for a kiss, she took a trickle of thought from the contact to find out why he was so unconcerned with the appearance of propriety.

It was all there at the forefront of his mind waiting for her — the ridiculously uneven fight, the interview, Frosty’s indecent proposal, and his refusal. She sighed a little against his cheek. Anger at the woman’s perfidy would come later — first came the disappointment that Logan wouldn’t be transferring to the Academy with her.

There were a few other things at the surface of Logan’s thoughts — such as the mischievous desire to put on a scandalous show and warn the punks away from his girl. Not having seen her lover for a week — and having to say goodbye to him again immediately — Marie was more than happy to comply, running her hands up under his jacket and leaning further into the kiss. When Logan slid his hands down to her rear, cupping possessively, she went him one better. Pulling out of the kiss and bracing her hands on his shoulders, she jumped upward, wrapping her legs around his waist and letting him help support her weight.

Logan was delighted, though it took an expert Logan-reader to identify and interpret the signs — half-smirk on one corner of the mouth and wicked glint in the eyes. To the unobservant (or to the audience members too far away to catch the light in his eyes) he merely appeared sardonically amused. "I take it you missed me?" loudly enough for the audience of shocked mutants and a few passing "regulars" alike.

"Damn straight. Do you have to leave right *now*?"

"Yeah, if Frosty calls the cops to make me leave it could get messy. I’m already wanted in enough states without adding Massachusetts to the list." (That last being for the benefit of the listeners — Marie already *knew* how little Logan cared for involvement with the police.)

"One more kiss, then?" she cooed.

‘Not a problem." He made it a good one, too — hot and intense, hands roaming her buttocks in an extremely visible display of mingled lust and possessiveness. Marie for her part kissed back with fervor, clinging to his shoulder with one arm while mussing his hair with her free hand. (It might be her last chance to ruffle those "points" for a while, after all.)

They pulled away with a shared sigh. Marie reluctantly let her legs drop to the ground. They clung to each other for a long moment, meeting each other’s eyes.

"You take care of yourself, kid, till I catch up with you."

"Okay. I’ll call you the first chance I get."

"I’ll keep the phone on."

There didn’t seem to be a lot left to say, really. Marie silently hooked her thumb under the chain around her neck, showing him that she wore his tag beneath her clothes.

He half smiled. "You want to let everyone see that, go right ahead."

[Let everyone know whose name you’ve got around your neck,] Inner Wolvie translated.

Then Logan looked past her to the group of fascinated mutants clustered on the path within earshot. "Looks like Frost didn’t think I’d be a good teacher for you. Not smart. My advice to you is to start looking into martial arts training pretty damn fast — because right now you couldn’t handle a troop of determined Girl Scouts."

With that he turned and was gone, disappearing into the early dusk of late autumn.

Mysterious visitor having absented himself, the pack of mutants behind her pressed forward, wanting to know who the hell he was, why he had been there, what was that about teaching and oh, yeah — was that her *boyfriend*?

That last was from Angelica, and Rogue laughed, realizing that the moratorium on talking about Logan (and, by extension, Xavier’s) had been lifted. She led the mob into the cafeteria, preparing for a good old-fashioned gossip session.

Might as well enjoy the camaraderie while she had it — because of another of the thoughts she had picked up from Logan. Plan A was a bust — on to Plan B.

[Time to call your parents.]

* * *

[Poor Marc. Right up until he saw me glue myself to the face of the guy who’d just got done kicking his ass, I think he thought he had a chance.]

It was enough to make Marie really feel for the guy. *No one* was particularly sorry that the bullying Jerod had taken such a pounding he was *still* in the infirmary, and as far as she was concerned Haroun was a condescending asshole whose ego could desperately benefit from receiving a few good beatings — but Sharon, Angelica and Marc were decent types. Marie was glad that the trio had escaped without lingering damages — though that was due more to deliberate care on Logan’s part than to luck alone.

The X-Men were still a topic to be avoided, but Logan and the non-superhero dealings of Xavier’s School were an absorbing enough topic. Angelica in particular was charmed by the idea of an entire campus in which students were free to use their powers, rather than a strictly-defined area of the administration building.

A certain amount of comparison between powers of the two student bodies also took place, leading Marc to wish aloud for a few bolt-throwing lessons from Ms. Munroe and Rogue to be put in the position of trying to judge whether Sam could outblast Haroun. (She had no idea.)

When Marie finally parted company from the others, they were debating the best methods of suggesting to Emma that Xavier’s School be sounded out for — cooperative learning? Exchange programs? Informal interscholastic competitions? She was still giggling at the mental image of the Rocket Boy Races and Flamethrowing Finals as she made her way to the phones.

Perfect timing, too — caught her parents after dinner, so she wasn’t interrupting.

"Hi, Mom!"

"Marie! Joseph, it’s Marie! How you doing, honey?"

Marie gave her father a few minutes to pick up the extension before answering.

"Hi, baby!"

"Hi, Dad! Mom, Dad — I have something to tell you..."

"What’s that, sugar?"

"I’m cured. I can — I can touch people and not have to worry about it. I can get rid of the gloves and scarves. I can come home and pass for normal."

"That’s wonderful, sweetheart!"

"Sounds like we were right to send you to that other school!"

Marie gritted her teeth. "Guess so," not wanting to admit that she’d been lying to her parents about her control for months now.

"So Ms. Frost is able to teach you, then."

Alarm bells went off at her father’s tone. "Mm, not really. I’m — I’m pretty well taught already." The absolute truth.

"After less than a week?"

Marie winced. "We — we had a breakthrough," she said feebly.

"Well, honey, that’s just wonderful."

Marie frowned disbelieving. Afer all this time waiting for her to gain control so they could... "So you’ll come get me, then?" She shouldn’t have had to suggest it at all, they should have started making plans for a pickup date as soon as they were told she could pass...

"In the middle of the school year? Honey, it’s your senior year — wouldn’t you rather go ahead and finish before leaving?"

"I’d — I’d rather have gone ahead and finished at Xavier’s — my friends are there," acerbically.

"Baby, Professor Xavier wasn’t able to do anything in more than a year, and Ms. Frost fixed you right up in a few *days*. You’re better off sticking with her for a while, seeing what she can teach you."

Ah, the penalties of lying. "Dad — Ms. Frost didn’t teach me *anything*. I learned to control my gift at Xavier’s months ago, practicing with a... friend of mine. I just said I didn’t have control ‘cause I wasn’t ready to come home."

"Now that’s a little bit convenient, don’t you think?"

Speechless, Marie listened to her father as he continued.

"Professor Xavier let you slack off and have fun with your friends and didn’t make you worry about being normal, and then Ms. Frost comes along and makes you *work* for a change, and *now* you want to come home?"

Confusion and disbelief chased themselves around in her head, pursued by rising anger, as she wondered what the hell was going on.

"Sugar, what you’ve been given is a gift from God. Ms. Frost is going to show you how to use it the best you can."

The roiling emotions were cleared, chased out by an icy wash of terror that rapidly mutated to frigid fury. Her mother would *never* have referred to her power as a gift of any kind, let alone a divine one — nor would her father have agreed with the description.

If they were in their right minds, that was.

That *bitch*. That chilly, conniving, scheming, backstabbing, manipulative, mindcontrolling BITCH.

Emma Frost had literally changed her parents’ minds.

Marie went through the motions of saying the appropriate goodbyes and ending the call, but she barely knew what she said or what her parents answered. She was too preoccupied with thoughts of how best to deal with the Ice Bitch. Hanging up the phone, she didn’t step aside but instead leaned against it, rapt in thought.

The knowledge that one was being held in the clutches of an amoral telepath for unknown but presumably nefarious purposes was disturbing. Especially when paired with the realization that one’s parents were enthralled into putting said telepath in the unassailable position of a school administrator with the full authority to "take disciplinary action" and "prevent truancy." Which meant that if she tried calling or even running away to the cops or other authorities, she’d probably find herself turned in to Frosty.

Had she been alone in this, she might have been frightened.

"Are you gonna just stand there all *night*? Some of us need to use the *phone*," griped an unpleasant voice behind her.

Marie turned to glare at the girl. "One more call, then I’m done." Placing her back firmly to the budding temper tantrum, she dialed.

Logan answered on the fifth ring. "What?" Judging by the guarded tone, he might have been expecting an unwelcome call.

Had she been in a better mood, she might have teased him about it, asked if he’d been getting guilt-trip calls from the X-Crew or something. But right now she wasn’t feeling at all playful. "I told my parents."

"And?"

"They didn’t believe me — or didn’t believe that Frost wasn’t the one responsible for what I’ve learned. They want me to stay, they *said*." She hoped he’d reach the same conclusion she had. Helping him out, "Mom said I had a gift from God and Ms. Frost would teach me how to use it best."

Logan had overheard enough conversations with her parents to know how out of character *that* statement was. She hoped.

She was right. "*Shit*. She managed to reach your parents all the way down in Mississippi?"

"Think so."

"Are you being listened to? Right now?"

"Yes." The girl behind her was muttering impatiently.

"All right. Plan C?"

"The place and time you were thinking — but I don’t want to wait."

"Tonight, you mean?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I’ll be there."

"See you then." She hung up, ignoring the girl’s exaggerated cry of relief.

Because that had been the *last* of the other thoughts she had gotten from Logan during their kiss.

[Two AM, under *this* tree,] with a mental image of a large oak with overhanging limbs conveniently close to the wall surrounding the school grounds, [tomorrow night.]

And as she had told him, she didn’t want to wait till then.

* * *  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Plan C...

* * *

"We KNOW how _mean_ and _cruel_ and _nasty_ and _despicable_ and _malicious_ and _EVIL_ she used to be when she was doing the hangs over at the HELLFIRE CLUB, but she's done all right by US, _hasn't_ she?"  
— Jubilee, on Emma Frost, GENERATION X #46, by Larry Hama

* * *

The hour was carefully chosen — late enough so that very few should be awake to potentially notice the figure sneaking through the darkened campus, yet still early enough to allow a fair distance to be covered before dawn. By the time Marie’s absence would be discovered the next morning — hopefully not until she failed to appear at her first class — she and Logan would be out of the state.

After her call to Logan, Marie headed for her room and packed. Not all of her things, nor even very many of them — a back pack for a few spare shirts, lots of socks and underwear, and her shower things. No gloves, no scarves — that part of her life was over. The jeans and shoes and coat she’d be wearing when she walked out of there. Enough to get by on for a while, but not too much to carry on a motorcycle.

Then she went to bed. If she was going to be up half the night riding, best to get some sleep now.

The alarm under her pillow woke her at 1:15, and she pulled on her clothes. Taking a cue from Logan, she layered on several shirts and put a sweater on top — an easy way of carrying more clothing away with her, and warmer in this weather.

She made it through the dorm without running into any late-night studiers or wandering night owls. A few people were still awake — she could hear music behind one or two of the doors she passed — but no one saw her leaving.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she closed the door behind her and struck out across the campus. Hopefully Logan was early and she wouldn’t be stuck waiting for him in the dark and the cold. Hopefully Logan wouldn’t have been *too* early and spent a long time waiting in the cold dark himself...

Marie was smiling as she passed the last building and reached the trees. The smile died as she heard:

"Miss Gordon, we at the Massachusetts Academy take our rules seriously — especially the ones regarding transgressing curfew and leaving the school property without permission."

Emma Frost was leaning casually against the wall of the science building Marie had just passed. Spread out to either side of her were Sharon, Marc, Haroun, and Angelica. (Jerod had been left to recuperate.)

[How the hell did I miss seeing them?!]

[Probably Frosty used a bit of mindcontrol on you, made you not notice them or something.] Inner Logan was not pleased.

Neither would Outer Logan be, if he knew — and he might be here at the Academy by now. The question was whether he would have noticed what was going on...

Trying to make her voice loud enough to carry to supersensitive ears at the rendezvous oak without *sounding* like she was pitching her voice for potential eavesdroppers, "Not a problem, Frosty. I won’t be a student here anymore." She was pleased by the annoyed look that crossed Emma’s face, though whether the reaction was to the statement or merely the nickname was hard to tell.

"Marie, your parents entrusted you into my care because they want you to have the training I can provide..."

"No, they ‘entrusted me into your care’ because you fucked with their heads to make them hand me over to you." Marie was interested to see the startled glances the other students were exchanging behind Emma’s back. [Did they not *know* what she’s *like*?]

[She’s a telepath — if any of them get suspicious, she can fuck with their heads and make ‘em forget it. Besides, I’ll bet none of them have met Chuckie — they don’t know what an *ethical* mindreader is like,] Logan advised.

In the time it took for Marie to process the students’ reactions, Frost had composed her reply. "Marie, by your own admission, you let your parents think that Professor Xavier was unable to help you control you power. Is it so hard to believe that they would prefer for you to try another instructor if the first was so clearly unable to help you?"

Marie narrowed her eyes. Allowing the fury to enter her voice — after all, loud was good right now — she snarled, "What’s ’hard to believe’ is that the parents who wanted to pretend that I’m not a mutant refused to come get me when I told them I can pass for human now. They don’t give a *flying FUCK* about me using my power to the best of my ability — they just want to be able to pretend that the last two years never happened so they can have their normal little girl back!" By the end of the rant her voice had reached full bellow — if Logan were on the school grounds at all, he would know where Marie was and that she was having Ice Bitch problems.

Meanwhile, the other students were looking worried. Emma, though, still thought she had the situation in hand. "I’m afraid I may have had to dispel a few of your parents’ dearly-held *illusions*, Marie, but that’s hardly the same thing as... ‘screwing with their heads.’ Perhaps you’ve been overidentifying with these illusions because *you* wanted so much to erase the past two years and go back to the way things were before your abilities manifested?"

The worst thing was that the bitch actually sounded like she was making sense. Angelica was nodding significantly to Sharon, clearly pleased to have Marie’s slander of the noble Ms. Frost so neatly discredited.

Gone was the bellow of mere minutes ago, replaced by the strangled whisper of helpless rage. "Two years ago, I hadn’t met *Logan*..."

"Ah. So this is about *him*. You’re running away to be with your *lover*. You’re throwing yourself upon the mercy of a man old enough to be your father and expecting him to take care of you indefinitely." Frosty paused to let that sink in. Behind her, Angelica and Sharon looked like they were trying to decide whether that was romantic or just dumb — Angelica was seemingly coming down on the side of "sweet" while Sharon looked to be veering towards "stupid". Marc looked heartsick. Haroun looked contemptuous — but then that seemed to be his standard expression, so it might not have related to Marie’s situation.

"It’s not like that, " Marie said softly, all the while realizing that everything Emma had said was *literally* true. It was the *way* Frosty was phrasing it, the implications she was making, that were slanted to leave a false impression.

"Oh? So you’ll be able to take care of yourself? Get a job? Pay your bills? At sixteen?"

"I managed just fine on my own for eight months before I met Logan and wound up at Xavier’s." [Never mind that I started out with a few hundred dollars when I left home that I don’t have now — *she* doesn’t need to hear that...]

"I don’t think that being a homeless runaway qualifies as ‘managing just fine’," Emma said acerbically.

[Damn. Was that a lucky guess, did she learn about it from my parents or the Professor, or did she manage to read it from me without me even realizing it?]

"In any case, you’ll be better off completing your education. Otherwise you’ll no doubt find yourself an abandoned high school dropout when your lover goes on to the next pretty young thing to catch his eye and leaves you to fend for yourself."

"That’s not going to happen."

The frustrated rage dissipated at the familiar voice. Marie felt herself smirking and didn’t bother to stop. Logan had indeed heard the argument and, after eavesdropping from the concealment of the wooded grounds for an unknown amount of time, had interposed himself into the conversation.

"I told you that before. I’m serious about Marie and I’m not gonna just get bored with her and drop her like an old newspaper." As Logan approached the group in the lee of the science building, Marie sidled around to meet him, presenting a united front against Frost and her minions.

At least the minions looked nervous — still sore from the afternoon’s ass-kicking, no doubt. Emma seemed to be made of sterner stuff — or else severely underestimating Logan and Marie’s combined ability to plow through anything that was likely to be thrown at them. "*Mister* Logan. I’m afraid that after this afternoon, your presence on these school grounds is unwelcome."

"Don’t worry — I’m just leaving."

"Alone."

"Nope."

"I’m going with him."

"I’m afraid not," Frosty said smoothly. "Catseye, Bevatron — if you could stop Miss Gordon from leaving..."

"Marie, I’m really sorry about this," Marc murmured as he and Sharon came within reach.

"Yeah, I’ll just bet." Making a feint towards Logan, Marie shifted directions at the last second to duck between the pair of them. Sharon, reflexes quicker than either her companion’s or Rogue’s, managed to get a hand on her arm as she tried to pass. Expecting the resistance, Marie drove an elbow back into the other girl’s midsection, aiming for her solar plexus but unfortunately hampered by her backpack. Marc got her other arm in the split second she wasted trying to decide whether it would be worth jettisoning her backpack to escape.

"Firestar, Jetstream — stop him!" was Emma’s shouted warning as the Wolverine moved to intervene. It didn’t do a bloody bit of good — Angelica got off a single fireball before Wolvie reached the three struggling teenagers, at which point she dared throw no more. Haroun threw himself at the group, but was knocked aside by a flung Catseye as Wolverine efficiently dealt with two impediments simultaneously. Marc was the next to be treated to a brief unscheduled flight, and Marie was freed. Grabbing her arm, Logan turned to run...

And was halted, as Emma stepped into the fight. Marie actually ran into him, he froze so suddenly.

Walking towards the pair of them, "My goodness, you *are* a determined pair. I’m afraid I can’t allow you to take her away from here — but I just might reconsider that job opening after all. I think you could prove to be quite useful to me — *if* I can cure you of that tendency to disobedience..."

It took Marie a few moments to understand what had just happened. Frosty was approaching, and Logan was just *standing* there — not running, not speaking, not turning to look at either Emma or herself. Nothing the woman had said rated that kind of a frozen response.

It was the rising growl that both clued her in and warned her. The Ice Bitch had actually grabbed control of Logan telepathically — and the Wolverine didn’t like it one bit.

Having both Logan and the Wolverine sharing room in her head, Marie had a fair idea of the kind of mess that could result from taking Logan out of the picture and leaving Wolvie running the show. Tugging her arm from his frozen grip, she pulled away to give him some room while turning herself to look at Emma. "I don’t think that’s a good idea, Frosty," she said mildly. Giving the bitch a warning was only fair — but Marie wasn’t exactly going to weep for her if she ignored the freely given advice.

"Ridiculous child — here I am offering the both of you what you said you *wanted*, a position here for your lover."

Rogue might have explained herself then — told Frosty that the inadvisable part lay in exerting telepathic influence on Logan — but the point became moot. Marie didn’t know whether the Wolverine broke free at that point or Logan deliberately slipped his leash — but either way, the beast was loose.

Loose, and bearing a grudge.

Emma’s first warning that things were not going as planned came when Wolvie turned. She frowned, plainly trying to strengthen her control over Logan, not realizing that Logan was no longer her problem.

Next came the gasps and widened eyes all around, as Wolverine popped his claws for the first time since setting foot on the campus. The <snikt!> was almost drowned out by the hoarse growl, rapidly increasing in volume.

Frost might have died then and there, had not Firestar risen to the occasion with a hasty incendiary barrage. She missed — or rather, Wolvie was too fast to hit — but the assault served to momentarily distract him from the Ice Bitch. Haroun hit him then, knocking Wolverine away from Angelica before he could reach her, but wisely dropping him some twenty or thirty feet away rather than leaving himself in close proximity to the claws for longer than a few seconds.

Even as quickly as Jetstream dropped Wolvie, he almost got himself carved up before swooshing safely out of range. Things could very easily have gotten very, very bloody — had Marie not been diving for Frosty even as the students assaulted Wolverine. With the other kids struggling to deal with her psychotic lover, and with Emma still trying to control the beast mentally, it was beyond easy to clap a bare hand to the woman’s face.

And the thing about her gift, about having *control*, was that she *did* have it. Not merely shutting it off (which was a blessed thing in and of itself), but taking *only* thoughts and memories (as she did so often with Logan), or taking *only* a mutant ability (as Logan insisted on doing whenever she got well-battered after a combat practice session). She hadn’t tried it, but she suspected that she might even have enough control by now to put someone in a coma *without* getting a head full of them.

And she was willing to test that theory on Frosty right here and now — but not as the first resort. The first thing to do was to break her hold on Logan...

...Which became beyond easy, by removing her telepathy. No telepathy, no mindcontrol...

Taking the power from Emma, Marie made sure to skim the most recently-formed memories along with it. What she learned that Emma had done — tried to grab Logan, not realizing that the Wolverine was a separate segment of personality not susceptible to mindcontrol — surprised her not at all.

The surprise came in what Emma had been thinking as she did it.

/The girl is probably beyond salvaging by now — rebellious, independent, needing no training, and loyal only to herself and her lover. Perhaps not a great loss — her power only works by touch contact, not very good in a combat situation, and if she can’t touch anyone useful she has nothing. I want the man, though — I can *use* him. He can fight, he can train my students to fight — and I can *make* him forget the girl.../

Freed as abruptly as he’d been grabbed, Logan stopped in mid-charge, wondering what the hell had just happened. [Okay, the Frost Bitch tried to grab me — so why am I loose now?] Seeing Marie with her hands pressed to Frosty — and smelling the rage wafting from Marie — pretty neatly answered that. Retracting his claws, he cautiously advanced on the pair. "Marie?"

"You all right, sugar?"

"Not very happy about Frosty here trying to jerk me around like that."

"I’m not very happy about that one, either. *Especially* with what she wanted you for." Shifting her attention, "You just can’t take ‘No’ for an answer, can you, Frosty?" Sensing an impending attack, Rogue increased the pull to the point of pain for just a fraction of a second. "*Don’t* try it. I can put you in a coma if I want to — *don’t* make me want to."

"She’s not the only one." Logan popped the claws on his right hand warningly. "So you kids keep your distance if you like your principal here in one piece." The students froze, Sharon and Marc having been attempting to sneak up on the pair holding their headmistress hostage.

"We’re going to leave now, do you understand? Logan and I are going to exit the school property and drive away from here, and you aren’t going to try to stop us anymore."

"And in exchange, she and I are going to let you and your kids go on back to your beds without fucking you up. Because we *can* fuck you up — *severely* — and if you try to stop us again, we’re gonna stop being so nice and you’re gonna see just how badly the pair of us can do it."

The buzz from hearing Logan making threats on behalf of the amount of damage the pair of them could do — not just for himself, but for *both* of them — created a warm glow that helped counteract Marie’s desire to drain Emma to a husk.

[Besides, you don’t want to risk having *her* in your head any more than the taste you’ve already got,] Inner Logan murmured soothingly.

"I’m going to let go of you now. *Don’t* try anything funny..." ::And I’ll *know* if you’re trying anything funny, for the rest of the night at least...:: Marie released Emma, moving backwards to keep the woman in sight as she rejoined Logan. Logan was doing his part by keeping an eye on the kids, leaving one set of claws out in a highly visible warning as the pair made their cautious getaway into the trees.

Because this was definitely a case where appearance mattered, they didn’t start running until they were out of sight in the trees. Logan’s hearing was good enough to pick up the conversation that started up behind them as they disappeared into the night.

"Geeze, should have figured there’d be something freaky about a guy nicknamed ‘The Wolverine’." That was one of the girls, though he didn’t know her name. (It was Angelica.)

"What? Where did you hear that?" That was Frosty.

"From Marie. It was, like, his callsign or something. He has it on a dogtag that he gave to her."

"Good Lord."

"What, you’ve heard of him?" One of the guys, the one who’d been sent to grab Marie. Marc, that was his name.

"Yes, I have. And I had no idea that he was working at Xavier’s School..."

Logan might have sighed had he not been busy jogging for the school walls. He’d hoped he hadn’t managed to blow the X-Men’s cover with this little fiasco — but it was starting to appear likely...

* * *

"What makes you such a bitch, Emma?"  
" _Breeding_ , darling. Top class breeding."  
— Jean and Emma, NEW X-MEN #116, by Grant Morrison

* * *

What with making certain that no one had been injured more seriously than a few bruises during that little fiasco and sending the students back to their beds, it was well past three AM when Emma found herself free to return to her own bed. Rather than sleeping, she nursed her Rogue-induced migraine while mulling over what had been learned from her telepathic examination of Logan’s psyche.

[What we have here,] Emma thought drowsily, [is a man who’s really a decent enough person. Likes children and animals, not especially fond of most other people but not wishing them any harm. Prefers to live and let live, considers them innocent until proven guilty and all that. But this man, Logan, has gotten hurt before. Badly. And he’s got company. An animal, like an attack dog — no, a wolverine. An attack wolverine. It’s a very well-trained wolverine. It can answer the door for him whenever someone on the outside knocks, and it can talk when he’s there for it to get the words from. The Wolverine actually handles most of his contact with the outside world. And the Wolverine, being a wolverine, pretty much hates people. Aside from a *very* few exceptions — like his mate — the Wolverine would prefer to see the whole teeming mass of humanity dead, and is willing to help as many along that route as possible. Logan keeps the Wolverine on a leash most of the time — he may even pull it back entirely when he’s dealing with someone he knows and trusts. But if something happens to take Logan out of the picture, if he’s traumatized to the point of withdrawal or angry enough to release the beast or, God help us, being controlled by a telepath — if the Wolverine gets loose without Logan there to rein it in, then there’s hell to pay. Because the Wolverine will kill whatever — *whoever* — is in its path until something stops it — or until everyone is dead...]

She set her jaw grimly. [And I came *that* close to turning it loose among my students tonight... Under the circumstances, I think that losing Rogue was an acceptable price to pay for getting rid of the Wolverine without fatalities.] She adjusted the washrag forming a cold compress on her forehead. [Still, a bloody shame I didn’t tell him he had the job when he was asking for it. He would have been useful — as a combat trainer *and* as a telepath-proof, gun-and-knife-proof fighter. It would have been one hell of a coup to have stolen one of the X-Men, too. And why am I *not* surprised to learn that Xavier’s School for the Gifted was training a small mutant attack force on the side? I *knew* that air of noble principles had to be a cover of some kind...]

Emma studied her clear pink nail polish thoughtfully. [Chipping. Need to redo them. Hard to believe that Xavier let a "teacher" bone an underaged student like that, no matter *how* useful he is or *how* difficult she may have been to manage. I wonder... I wonder if Xavier even *knew*?] She sat up as the implications of the thought began to unfold, absently letting the damp rag fall into her lap. [He’s so prudish about using his talent, he might well have *been* completely oblivious. Especially with the pair of them being as difficult to read as they both are.] A smile began to slowly blossom on her face. [If he knew, he might refuse to take Logan back — and where he goes, goes Rogue. That’s one X-Man and one *future* X-Man lost to him, even if *we* can’t have them. And since Magneto nearly killed Rogue, I can’t see them going to the Brotherhood, either.] Absentmindedly she began to flake the peeling polish from one thumbnail, remembering what she had learned of the girl during the highly-publicized trial of Erik Lensherr and through her own later research and surveillance. [I don’t think that either of them is really the crusading type. If they aren’t part of a team, they’ll more than likely just go their own way. Two powerful players taken off the board — neutralized...]

Emma rose from the bed and made her way to the desk, beginning to flip through her Rolodex. [Where *is* that number — ah, "Xavier’s School for the Gifted." I think I need to make a phone call, just as a courtesy from one educator to another, to warn him about the pedophile who used to be on his staff. Just as soon as it gets to a decent hour...] The smile on her face was chilling, predatory.

* * *

"Sorry I’m late, sir. Minor incident at breakfast." Scott was the last of the group to let himself into Xavier’s office.

"Nothing worrisome, I trust?"

"Bobby decided to adjust the temperature of the juice dispenser. We managed to chip him loose eventually."

The Professor sighed and refrained from inquiring as to the extent of the dining room damage. "I would like to thank you all for taking the time before your first classes for this meeting. I’ll try to make it brief. Bright and early this morning I received a telephone call from Ms. Emma Frost. She had a very interesting tale to tell..."

"Is Rogue all right?"

"That may be a matter of some debate, Ororo. It seems, according to my — " <cough> " — esteemed colleague, that Miss Gordon has been leaving the lot of us very much in the dark concerning her abilities to control her power."

"Why would she — " Scott began, only to be cut off by Jean.

"This is about her parents, isn’t it? They want her home — and she doesn’t want to go?"

Hank frowned. "Pardon my disbelief, but why *wouldn’t* Rogue want to return home? She seems to genuinely miss her parents. And even if she prefers to remain here, I can see no reason for her to have concealed her abilities from *us*."

"I was getting to that. Ms. Frost *claims* that Rogue was concealing her control to prevent suspicion, because she was having an affair with a faculty member." Charles paused significantly, watching all of the faculty members — all the *remaining* members — exchanging confused, suspicious, or speculative glances.

Scott was the first to realize which "faculty member" Xavier most likely referred to. "That sneaking, two-faced *pervert*...!"

Behind Scott, Ororo’s eyes widened. Hank remained skeptical. Jean looked disbelieving. "Professor, you *can’t* mean — wait. Did Ms. Frost get this from Rogue? Because she’s always had a crush on him — she could have been fantasizing..."

"According to Ms. Frost, Logan came to her school yesterday seeking a position as a self-defense instructor or the like. She refused him, upon learning of his relationship with a sixteen-year-old student, and last night in the wee hours he returned to her school and ‘abducted’ Miss Gordon." Charles allowed the four X-Men time to process this information.

"He *‘abducted’* her? Carried her off? Sir, we have to find them!" That was Scott, always ready to believe the worst of Logan. Beside him, Jean was slowly shaking her head from side to side, stunned and still disbelieving. Ororo looked thoughtful, as did Hank.

"I think the term ‘abducted’ was a matter of dramatic hyperbole on Ms. Frost’s part. Apparently Rogue was a willing co-conspirator in her own kidnapping. In fact, Ms. Frost was rather incensed by Rogue’s willingness to use her power against the headmistress to facilitate their escape."

"That son of a bitch..." Scott’s flash of outrage had cooled to a low burn of helpless indignation.

"Professor, just how trustworthy a source *is* Ms. Frost?" Jean was clinging to hope.

"Not at all, which is why I called you in here. If any of you know anything that may serve to prove — or disprove — any part of her assertions, I should very much like to hear it."

A moment of silence, which Ororo ended. "I believe it could be true."

"Ro, how could you say — "

"I did not say it *was* true, Jean, merely that it *could* be. *If* Logan is a much better actor than we’ve given him credit for, and *if* she loves him — or believes that she does — enough to hide her control to stay with him..."

"That *bastard*. Making that little girl keep from touching anyone else and layer up in all those extra clothes when she didn’t even *need* to, just to keep her where he could get at her..."

Tiring of Scott’s seething and Jean’s denial, Xavier turned his attention to the person who hadn’t weighed in with an opinion yet. "Hank? Your thoughts on the subject?"

"Hmm? Oh, I was just wondering about how she could have possibly gained control. Considering what I read in their medical files, if Logan suffered so comparatively little from the ill effects of Rogue’s ability, it would make him an excellent guinea pig for practicing on."

"Then you believe Ms. Frost’s allegations?"

"I wouldn’t care to testify under oath on the subject — but we all knew that they were close to one another. And it has to mean *something* that he left mere days after she did..."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Hank has a point." Jean looked tired now that reality had seeped in.

"So what are we going to do about this, sir?" Scott looked alert, clearly hoping for the order — or at least the permission — to go track down the couple and retrieve their wayward student. (To hell with Logan, of course. Ideally very soon...)

"Do? Given that our source of information is untrustworthy at best and actively duplicitous at worst, we’re not going to jump to any rash assumptions. What we *are* going to do is attempt to contact the pair of them — and if they return here, whether today or at some point in the future, we will *not* make accusations without first getting to the bottom of this."

Scott was clearly disappointed, Jean just as clearly relieved.

"How were you planning to contact them? Cerebro?" Hank was, as ever, moving on to the problem that *could* be worked on now.

"If necessary, though I’ll also try Logan’s cell phone. I believe that the Gordons should be notified, if Ms. Frost hasn’t done so already — though it would be very interesting indeed if she had *not* done so, or if they had been given a different story..."

"You can try e-mail, too. I believe Kitty and Jubilee have her address," Storm volunteered.

"An excellent suggestion. Yes. If you could handle that, Ororo — I am sure you would know what best to say." Xavier trusted Ro’s discretion — not to mention her ability to remain soothing and non-accusatory. Jean was more frequently called up on liaison duties, but given her apparent sense of betrayal at Logan’s "defection," her skills in diplomacy might not be up to this particular situation.

"Let me get this straight. We’re going to see if Logan decides to start answering his phone again, and send Rogue an *e-mail*, and call her parents — and that’s *it*? We’re going to let an underage girl go running off with a psycho killer probably old enough to be her *grandfather* — and not try to stop her?!"

"Scott, this is a sanctuary — not a prison. We can offer the both of them a home, a place in the school or on the team, but only if they wish to be here. If they want to go, we have to let them. We can only offer our help — not force it upon them..."

* * *

They had made it all the way into Pennsylvania before stopping to rest. Passing through New York, they *could* have gone back to the X-Mansion — but paranoia seemed the order of the night. After all, they had no way of knowing how the X-Crew would react to having Logan and Marie show up unexpectedly on their doorstep after he had quit and she had been transferred to another school.

More to the point, neither of them trusted Frosty to accept that she had been beaten and leave them alone to go their merry way. She had taken Marie right from under the X-Men’s noses and reached down to Mississippi to affect Marie’s parents — who knew what other dirty tricks she had up her sleeve? So they got themselves past New York state entirely — and New Jersey as well — before picking a motel and getting a room.

It had taken some negotiating — or rather, a certain amount of cash and a lot of snarling on Logan’s part — but they managed to get the desk clerk to give them a room before the scheduled check-in hours. That accomplished, they collapsed into bed — a sheet carefully tucked around Marie, she not being willing to trust her control while sleeping yet — and slept until well into the afternoon.

Waking together in a motel bed was familiar. During Marie’s first drowsy minutes of consciousness, this felt like nothing more than another pickup run. The quality of the light when she finally opened her eyes could have indicated either early morning or late afternoon.

She had pulled the sheet aside to snuggle into Logan’s bare chest when memory abruptly resurfaced. Frost — her parents — the escape — [*Oh*.] Raising her head to see if Logan was awake yet, she was met with a thoughtful gaze.

"Mornin’," he said. The lack of an endearment, smile, or "good" prefacing the "morning" were all indicative.

[He’s worried.]

"So. We’re here, we’re together — now what?"

*That* earned her a quirk of one corner of his mouth, an ironic not-quite-smile. "Good question."

"So. We can go to Mississippi. We can go back to the X-Men. Or we can strike out on our own."

"Or we can go back to Frosty and see if she’s reconsidered." At Marie’s disbelieving stare, he added, "The option *does* exist — but it wouldn’t be my first choice."

"*Or* mine." Marie glared at the absent Ice Bitch, almost wishing that she *had* taken the chance and tried putting the woman into a coma.

"So we agree, then. Whatever we do, we want *not* to go back there."

"Right."

"Which means we may not want to go to Mississippi, since Frosty ‘fixed’ your parents. They’d probably just try to send you back to her."

"Right." More brooding. "Almost" wished, hell. She *did* wish she’d put Frosty into a coma. The bitch would have deserved it.

"And Chuckie’s..." He hesitated. "I think they’d actually try helping you to stay, this time. *Especially* now that we know that Frosty fucked with your parents." He paused, an idea occurring to him. "Wheels might even be able to unfuck your parents for you. Keep Frost from making them send you to her."

Marie heard the hesitation in his voice. "But?"

"But Chuck — and Scooter, and maybe even Jeannie — might feel like they need to go ahead and send you on home to Mississippi if your parents want. Which they *will* want, if Chuck fixes them."

"And even if they don’t, I can’t see them agreeing that you and me are a good thing together. *Any* of them — my parents or the X-Men. And I can’t really tell them all to stay out of it until I’m legal."

"Right." The annoyance was obvious, in his tone and expression both.

"So, I guess that leaves striking out on our own."

He looked — not worried, exactly, but serious. Concerned. "It’s not a real cushy life. Sometimes the road gets pretty dangerous."

"I know. I was on my own for eight months before we met, remember?"

Logan sighed and nodded. "Least you’ll be better off with me than alone. What about school?"

"What *about* it?"

"It’s kind of important if you want to try doing the whole normal life thing at some point. Makes it easier to get a decent job." Pause, before admitting, "Plus, I feel less like I’m maybe wrecking your life running off with you like this if you at least get your schooling finished. Go to college. That kind of thing."

Marie had grave doubts as to how "normal" a life an ex-X-Man and former future X-Man could have. Still, he was concerned about her future quality of life, which was touching. More to the point, he was warning her of a potential upcoming guilt issue for him, and those she *always* watched out for. (God forbid he should manage to convince himself someday that she’d be better off without him!)

"So I’ll keep studying. Maybe take correspondence courses. Get my GED." He still looked uncomfortable. Inspiration struck. "Once I’m eighteen, Frost won’t be able to get at me legally through my parents. So if I haven’t managed to get my diploma or whatever by then, we could go on back to the X-Men. I’ll be old enough by then that they won’t be able to really do anything about us being together."

"Except refuse to take us back — or take *me* back, anyway." He was grumbling, but his expression had lightened a bit.

"It’s both of us or neither, and they’ll *want* us back.. There aren’t *that* many would-be superheroes around, and you’re *good*."

Wryly, "Yeah, I’m ‘good’ — and I can’t keep my hands off the students."

"No, you just can’t keep your hands off *me*. And by the time I turn eighteen, we’ll have been together for close to two years. That’ll make it *real* hard for them to argue that you’re gonna get bored and leave me or won’t treat me right or something. We’ll have had time to *prove* we can do this."

The unhappy expression had faded. Logan met her eyes with something new — hope, strengthening into determination. "We *can*. We can do this."

"Yes."

"And I’m going to take care of you. You know that."

"Yes. And *I’m* going to take care of *you*." At his amused expression, she tapped him firmly on the chest. "It’s a two-way street, *bub*. A partnership. We watch each others’ backs, look out for each other."

"A team." The amusement remained, with something else kindling in his eyes.

"Right."

"Love you. You know that."

"I know. I love you, too."

THE END  



End file.
